


Oedipal Domestics

by Paarthursass



Series: Skyrim Kink Meme [2]
Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Age Difference, F/M, Love Triangles, Mutual Pining, Size Difference, Skyrim Kink Meme, UST, freudian slips galore, maybe eventual smut, no eye gouging i promise
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-07-08
Packaged: 2018-07-18 18:42:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 3,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7326070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Paarthursass/pseuds/Paarthursass
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life is short and leaves little time for courting. But finding out that your spouse has a son the same age as you might have been a good thing to learn before moving in.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For the Skyrim Kink Meme prompt asking for the antics involved in Asbjorn suddenly having a step-mom the same age as him.

Balimund was smitten.  And no one could see it better than Asbjorn. 

It had all started when some mysterious woman handed him an apothecary’s satchel practically bursting from the fire salts she had stored in it.  The old smith had retired that night with a silly smile on his face and a deep chuckle rumbling through his throat. 

“Didn’t think she’d remember,” he admitted when he and Asbjorn settled down for dinner.  “I just mentioned it to her in passing.” 

Asbjorn had been glad to see his father in such high spirits, but didn’t think much on it until a few days later, when Balimund returned home with that same smile on his face. 

“She came back,” he said.  “Apparently found Mjoll’s old sword.  Now there’s a woman I never thought I’d see cry,” he shook his head but the wide smile was still on his face.  And Asbjorn started to have his suspicions. 

It was the third time that sealed the deal.  Balimund was laughing when he returned home.

“She did it again,” he grinned.  “Got some materials for Madesi, and I saw her talking to Talen Jei, too.  Never did two happier lizards.  Think I even heard her talking to Marise about gettin’ her some ice wraith teeth.”

Asbjorn shifted in his seat, and gave Balimund a sly look.  “You like her, don’t you?”

“Course I do,” the smith replied immediately. “Decent people are hard to come by these days, not to mention she’s easy on the eyes.”

“Have you thought about…you know…”

Balimund lowered his tankard, and he hesitated before speaking. 

“I have,” he admitted. “She doesn’t stay in one place for too long, and I don’t think bein’ married would change that.  But I like seein’ her, and I think she likes seein’ me.  I…I think it would be nice.”

Asbjorn smiled as he watched his father.  The old smith had done so much for him, given him so much…

He deserved whatever happiness this woman brought him. 

“Having her around would probably get Haelga off your back, too,” Asbjorn grinned. 

Balimund huffed, and sourly brought his drink to his lips. “I doubt it.  Hasn’t stopped her from pestering Bersi,” he grumbled.

Asbjorn laughed, but his eyes softened as Balimund gave him a careful look.

“You’d…be ok with it, then.  If I…”

“I’m not a child anymore,” Asbjorn gently replied. “It’s not as if you have to worry about her being a mother to me as well as a wife to you.  And if she makes you happy…you should pursue her.  Don’t worry about me.”

Asbjorn could see the relief spread through Balimund, and father gave son a grateful smile. 

“Don’t thank me yet,” Asbjorn warned. “You still need to ask her.”

He could have laughed at the panic that appeared in Balimund’s eyes. 

Only a few weeks had transpired before Balimund burst through the doors of the Scorched Hammer, his eyes wide and an impossibly large smile on his face.  “She said yes!”

Abjorn looked up from his work, and his own face broke out into an incredulous smile.  “You asked her?”

“She was wearing an Amulet of Mara!” Balimund laughed. “Didn’t even know what it meant, her being from High Rock and all.  We had a bit of a laugh about that once things were settled.”

Asbjorn smiled, his heart warmed by his father’s euphoria.  He mentally adjusted the little information he had on Balimund’s fiancé to include the fact that she was a Breton – he didn’t even know her name, he realized – but decided to ask the next obvious question.

“When’s the wedding?”

“Tomorrow!”

“Tomorrow?” Asbjorn grinned.  “Well, looks like I’m not going to meet my future step-mother until she actually is my step-mother.”

Balimund’s eyes softened, and he stepped forward to pull Asbjorn into a warm hug. 

“You’ll love her,” he promised. “I know you will.”

 

The next day saw Balimund standing in the temple of Mara, is beard trimmed and the soot from the forge washed from his face and hair.  He was wearing the nicest tunic he owned, and Asbjorn thought he had never seen his father look as neat and glowing as he did that day. 

The smith was fidgeting, and nervously looking back at the door to the temple, and Asbjorn chuckled to himself.

He also had never seen his father so nervous. 

But then the tension broke as the doors opened, and Balimund heaved a sigh of relief.  A curious smile on his face, Asbjorn turned to look at the woman he would be calling mother.

His jaw nearly hit the floor.   


	2. Chapter 2

Asbjorn was ready to admit that it was difficult for him to tell a Breton woman’s age.  They were so tiny, and their faces so round that it was easy to mistake one for being younger than she actually was.  But there was still no mistaking how young this woman was.  There was a youthful glint in her warm eyes, and the shortened sleeves of her dress revealed rounded arms that hardly seemed touched by time or hardships. 

_She must be my age,_ he thought.  _Talos, she could be younger than me.  I can’t tell!_

He had thought she would be older.  He had imagined a woman perhaps a decade younger than Balimund at most, but still well-worn.  An eccentric woman who had forsaken the life of comfort for travelling around and gathering oddities. 

Not this young, _beautiful_ woman. 

Asbjorn’s wide eyes watched her as she glided down the aisle.  In the back of his mind he wondered where she had gotten that cornflower blue dress on such short notice.  Did she just carry it around with her?

Her cheeks were flushed a pretty pink.  Her softly curled hair was cut short enough to leave her slender neck bare, and her bosom heaved as she saw Balimund standing in front of her…

_Balimund!_

Asbjorn could have cursed himself.  He guiltily looked away, and then focused his gaze on his father.

_Never mind how young she is.  She’s marrying Balimund.  She’s going to be your…_

Asbjorn’s mouth went dry.

Oh no.

When the woman reached the altar, she smiled up at Balimund and Asbjorn felt a lump form in his throat.  She cast her eyes downward, and her flush deepened.  And as he was sitting in the front aisle, Asbjorn could clearly hear her soft voice.

“I’m glad I didn’t have more time to commission a dress, I feel overdressed as it is.”

Balimund gave a low chuckle, and he took her small hand in his own. 

“You look beautiful.”

Asbjorn felt a pang of guilt.

The wedding moved at a snail’s pace for Asbjorn, who found himself unsure of where to look.  He felt sick as he looked at the love-struck looks on Balimund’s and the woman’s faces, and settled for staring at Maramal as he droned on about Mara and her gace. 

Then it was over, and Asbjorn let out a breath of relief.  He shot up, ready to leave the temple and get away from the newlyweds.  But Balimund called out to him before he had even stood. 

“Asbjorn, boy,” Balimund smiled warmly, and slung one arm securely around the Breton woman’s waist.  “This is Gwyn.  Gwyn, I’d like you to meet Asbjorn.  He’s my apprentice, and my son.”

Asbjorn didn’t miss the way the woman’s eyes widened in alarm, and before he could help himself he blurted out:

“Adopted,” he licked his lips, looked at Balimund’s surprised face, and then looked back at the woman – Gwyn. 

“Balimund rescued me from the hellhole of Honorhall,” he added with a small smile. 

Gwyn returned it, though there was still a measure of uncertainty in her eyes. 

“Well, that’s…it’s wonderful to meet you, Asbjorn,” she finally said.  She gave Balimund a pointed look.

“I didn’t even know Balimund _had_ a son.”

Balimund had the decency to sheepishly chuckle.

“Guess I didn’t think about mentioning it.”

Gwyn gave his arm a fond pat, but then looked back at Asbjorn with that same hint of trepidation.

“So, you work with Balimund at the Scorched Hammer then?”

“Yes.”

“So you live…”

“With Balimund.”

“…oh.”

Oh indeed.


	3. Chapter 3

Mercifully, Gwyn didn’t linger in Riften long after the wedding. 

Asbjorn thankfully had enough gold saved up that he could room at the Bee and Barb for those first few nights.  He told the newlyweds that he wanted to give them some privacy, and they both seemed grateful for that.  He even ate his supper there, so he could avoid seeing them throw those lovesick eyes at each other.  But he still got very little sleep, as all he could think about was them, back home, doing…

_This is wrong, he thought to himself.  She’s not blood, but she might as well be.  She’s family._

And yet Asbjorn couldn’t help but think that had circumstances been different, she could have been at Honorhall with him when Balimund first came into his life. 

_Why didn’t he tell me she was so young?  Why didn’t he warn me?_ Asbjorn bitterly mused one night. _He had to know I was thinking she’d be closer to his age.  Why did he have to go for someone so young?_

During the day, Asbjorn did his best to avoid Gwyn.  It was impossible to do the same with Balimund, but both smiths were too involved in their own work for there to be much room for any awkward encounters.

And yet, Asbjorn found his gaze rising whenever Gwyn left the house.  His eyes followed her as she glided through the marketplace, smiling and conversing pleasantly with the people milling about.

_Is she so nice to everyone?_ He wondered as her gentle smile never faltered, even in the face of Grelka’s hostility.

He continued to watch her, and his whole body stiffened when he saw her pass by Brynjolf’s stall.  He couldn’t hear what passed between them, but the con gave her a smirk and threw some comment her way that Gwyn gave an over-the-shoulder reply to.  Brynjolf’s laugh rose above the sounds of the market and the smithy, and Asbjorn’s eyes narrowed.

He only looked away when Gwyn’s soft brown eyes drifted in his direction, and he resumed his work with renewed intensity. 

When he went back to work the third day after the wedding, he knew Gwyn was gone.  Balimund didn’t have the same glow about him, and Asbjorn was privately relieved. 

They didn’t speak much the rest of the day, but when dinner came Asbjorn felt his discomfort return.

“Do you like her?”

Asbjorn looked firmly down at his stew, not trusting his eyes to lie for him at the moment.

“She seems nice.”

“She is.”

“She seems like she knows how to handle Riften, too.”

“She does.”

Asbjorn clenched his jaw, and then exhaled before looking up at Balimund.

“…Father?”

As Balimund met his gaze in answer, Asbjorn felt his courage leave him, and he only offered a small smile.

“I’m happy for you.”


	4. Chapter 4

Just as he’d known when she’d left, Asbjorn knew when Gwyn arrived.  The walls in the Scorched Hammer were thin, and Asbjorn was a light sleeper.  He was just on the brink of wakefulness when he heard the door to the home creak open.  In an instant he was up, his eyes wide and alert. 

Fearing one of Riften’s numerous thieves had come to visit, he grabbed his dagger and silently crept to the door of his room.  Quietly, so as not to alarm the intruder, he opened the door and slipped out into the hall.  With his back pressed firmly against the wall, he took in a deep breath and peered around the corner.

It was Gwyn.  Asbjorn’s shoulders sagged in relief, but his eyes narrowed upon closer inspection of the woman. 

She sat slumped in a chair by the fireplace, and the low embers of the dying flames cast a faint, orange glow about her.  But even in the dim lighting Asbjorn could still see that the Breton looked significantly worse for wear. 

The robes she wore – robes that were not unlike the ones the local mage, Marcurio, wore – were singed and torn.  And it was difficult to tell in the dark, but Asbjorn squinted his eyes and thought, to his alarm, that he saw blood staining her clothes. 

After a moment Gwyn stirred, and Asbjorn tensed.  If she looked ready to retire to Balimund’s room, he didn’t want to be caught snooping. 

But the Breton didn’t seem ready to leave the meager warmth of the hearth just yet.  Instead she softly exhaled, and tiredly reached up to tug on the ties of her robes. 

Asbjorn jolted as he realized what Gwyn was doing, and only managed to shake himself out of his stupor right before she let the robe fall from her shoulders.  He looked away as soon as he caught a glimpse of her bronzed skin, and gulped. 

He should retire to his room.  He had confirmed that it wasn’t a thief, and he should leave Gwyn to her privacy.  And he was just about to sneak back when he heard the soft tinkling sound of magic.

Unable to help himself, Asbjorn took another peak, and in the light of the spell Gwyn was casting he was able to see an alarming wound on her shoulder close and heal without so much as a blemish left on her skin.  Gwyn lowered the hand that had been casting the spell, and gave another heavy exhale before standing and pushing her robes down to her ankles. 

With a dark flush Asbjorn looked away again, and only heard the rustling of cloth and the soft click of clasps.  When he dared to look back he saw that Gwyn had dressed herself in a more common peasant dress, and that she had stuffed the mage robes into her travel pack. 

Asbjorn found himself absurdly hoping that she would leave the pack in the front room, but Gwyn lifted it by its strap, and he realized nearly too late that she was walking towards the hallway he was hiding in.  He retreated back into his room just in time, though he kept his door cracked to look out from.

From the sliver of a window he had, Asbjorn watched as Gwyn gently pushed the door to Balimund’s room open.  She slipped in and closed the door behind her.  Asbjorn briefly considered sneaking out and putting his ear to the door to listen to what transpired, but then came to his senses.

_What do I think is going to happen?  She’s his wife.  And since I am not walking to the Bee and Barb this time of night, they’d best save the welcome home sex for when I’m gone. _

Disgruntled and bothered, though he wasn’t quite sure why, Asbjorn returned to his bed and tried to fall asleep.  But despite his efforts, whenever he closed his eyes he saw the image of Gwyn, bathed in the light of a dying fire and her mage robes sliding down her curved form. 

And the scar that had marred her skin before she healed it with magic. 

As Asbjorn finally drifted off to sleep, he wondered if there was anything else she kept covered from them. 


	5. Chapter 5

The next morning Asbjorn rose early.  He didn’t think he could stand breakfast with Gwyn and Balimund, and decided an early start to his day would be best. 

So he was surprised when he walked out into the early morning sunlight and saw Gwyn sitting at the grindstone. 

The sleeves of her dress were rolled up into her elbows, and her dark hair was tucked behind her ears.  A stray curl had fallen into her eyes, but the Breton ignored it as she stared intently at the dagger she was honing. 

Asbjorn watched her, not bothering to mask his surprise.  Neither Balimund nor Gwyn herself had given any indication that she knew anything about smithing.  Of course working a grindstone was entirely different from working a forge, but still.

_Then again, you haven’t really bothered to get to know her, have you?_

Feeling a bit guilty, Asbjorn turned to quietly re-enter the house.  But just as he did Gwyn paused in her work to brush her hair back, and her eyes fell on him.

“Asbjorn?”

The smith in question froze, and turned to look at Gwyn.  He was again surprised to find a sheepish look not unlike his own on her face.

“Do you need the forge?  I tried to get out here early so I wouldn’t be in yours or Balimund’s way, but if you –”

“It’s fine,” Asbjorn quickly replied. “I didn’t mean to disturb you.  I was just –”

“Oh, you didn’t disturb me at all!  I was almost done, actually.  I’ll be out of your way in just –”

“You weren’t in my way!”

They both clamped their mouths shut, and Asbjorn could feel his ears burning from the awkward tension that hung between them.  The only consolation he had was that Gwyn seemed to be just as flustered as he did. 

After a moment, Asbjorn decided he couldn’t bear the uncomfortable silence any longer and coughed.

“I’ll head back inside.  No need for you to hurry your work on my account.” He bowed his head and once more turned to leave, but once more Gwyn’s voice stopped him.

“I’m sorry.”

Asbjorn’s hand hovered over the door handle.

“I told you, I don’t need the –”

“No, for…for this.”

Asbjorn paused, and he turned to look at Gwyn.

“This?”

Gwyn nodded, and exhaled heavily. “I…I know this must be strange for you.  Well, I don’t know exactly, but it…it’s strange for me, too.” She was fiddling with the skirt of her dress, and then firmly clasped her hands together.

“I just…barged into your life without warning.  Having someone marry your father is jarring enough, but…” she looked down. “…I know…having a woman your own age marrying your father is…something else entirely.”

Asbjorn remained silent, and instead kept his gaze on Gwyn.  When she realized he wasn’t going to speak, she took in a deep breath.

“It’s strange for me, too,” she admitted. “I…don’t quite know how to act around you.  If you’d been younger, I’d know.  Ten years between us would have made this easier.”

She sighed then, and ran a hand through her short mop of curls.  She raised her eyes to look at Asbjorn directly, and he realized they were green.  And in the gentle light of the rising sun, he could see freckles dotted across her nose and cheeks.

“But I love Balimund,” she said. “And I know you do, too.  And I’m afraid that if we don’t resolve this, it’ll only hurt him.”

She offered Asbjorn a small smile, and then held out her hand to him.

“So, instead of mother and step-son, how about…friends?”

Asbjorn looked down at Gwyn’s offered hand, and then up at the woman’s hopeful gaze.

With a small, hesitant smile, he reached out and took her petite hand in his own, and he shook it.  All the while trying not to think about how warm and soft her skin was.

“Friends.”


End file.
